“Miss Van Tuyn! I did not know you were here.” She saw Garstin smiling ironically. Arabian took her hand and pressed it. “I am glad to see you again.” His look, his pressure, were full of ardent sympathy. “I have been thinking often of you and your great sorrow.” “Thank you!” she said, almost stammering. “And what is it I am to see?” said Arabian, turning to Garstin. “Stand away, Beryl!” said Garstin roughly. She moved. What else could she do? Arabian saw the portrait and said: “Oh, my picture at last!” Then he took a step forward, and there was a silence in the studio. Miss Van Tuyn looked at the floor at first. Then, as the silence continued, she raised her eyes to Arabian’s. She did not know what she expected to see, but she was surprised at what she did see. Standing quite still immediately in front of the picture, with his large eyes fixed upon it, Arabian was looking very calm. There was, indeed, scarcely any expression in his face. He had thrust both hands into the pockets of his overcoat. Miss Van Tuyn wondered whether those hands would betray any feeling if she could see them. In the calmness of his face she thought there was something stony, but she was not quite sure. She was, perhaps, too painfully moved, too violently excited just then to be a completely accurate observer. And she was aware of that. She wished Arabian would speak. When was he going to speak? “Well?” said Garstin at last, perhaps catching her feeling. “What do you think of the thing? Are you satisfied with it? I’ve been a long time over it, but there it is at last.” He laughed slightly, uneasily, she thought. “What’s the verdict?” “One moment--please!” said Arabian in an unusually soft voice. Miss Van Tuyn was again struck, as she had been struck, when she first met Arabian in the studio, by the man’s enormous self-possession. She felt sure that he must be feeling furiously angry, yet he did not show a trace of anger, of surprise, of any emotion. Only the marked softness of his voice was unusual. He seemed to be examining the picture with quiet interest and care. “Well? Well?” said Garstin at last, with a sort of acute impatience which betrayed to her that he was really uneasy. “Let’s hear what you think, though we know you don’t set up for being a judge of painting.” “I think it is very like,” said Arabian. “Oh, Lord--like!” exclaimed Garstin, on an angry gust of breath. “I’m not a damned photographer!” “Should not a portrait be like?” said Arabian, still in the very soft voice. “Am I wrong, then?” “Of course not!” said Miss Van Tuyn, frowning at Garstin. At that moment absolutely, and without any reserve, she hated him. “Then you’re satisfied?” jerked out Garstin. “Indeed--yes, Dick Garstin. This is a valuable possession for me.” “Possession?” said Garstin, as if startled. “Oh, yes, to be sure! You’re to have it--presently!” “Quite so. I am to have it. It is indeed very fine. Do not you think so, Miss Van Tuyn?”